


Ever So Slightly (Daily and Nightly)

by AbsolutelyNob



Series: In Any World [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anti's character acts more like Sean tbh, Antisepticeye - Abel, Damien has a short temper, Darkiplier - Damien, Hitman AU, Implied Character Death, M/M, Masquerade Ball, They all have different names though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-26 02:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18274142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbsolutelyNob/pseuds/AbsolutelyNob
Summary: Damien is a hitman, and Abel doesn't really mind that. It's only when Damien tries to turn his partner into his partner in crime that the problems start arising.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beckwhite1331](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckwhite1331/gifts).
  * Inspired by [it's not about control but i turn back when i see where you go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7926850) by [GalaxyGhosty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty). 
  * Inspired by [i'd rather fuel a fantasy than deal with this alone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6329185) by [Quintessentia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quintessentia/pseuds/Quintessentia). 



> I started this story a few years ago but finally finished it as an assignment in my creative writing class in college with the help of my Wonderful friend @beckwhite1331. I don't have any plans to really continue this particular storyline, HOWEVER I did write two other alternate versions of this lol. I didn't really go through it to check for any errors so apologies if there are any. Title is from "Everything Stays" from Adventure Time. Enjoy!

Seeing him softly swaying on the terrace was not an unusual sight for him to return to. After all, they reside only a few floors above the dance hall, where parties are usually held by the most prestigious people for the most prestigious people. They were always invited, but never once had they attended.  


“It would be no fun to go on my own,” Abel would always say, when Damien would ask why he never just goes.  


“You wouldn’t be alone for long,” he would retort. “You know I would meet you there after I come back from my nightly investigation.”  


“Yes, but the party always starts at six. And you’re such a wild card that I can bet not even you know when you’ll arrive. Besides, I don’t think I’d be able to handle any period of time on my own without being overwhelmed by all the stupidity in the room.” Abel had a point about his timing, but Damien would still feel guilty that he was the reason that Abel wouldn’t allow himself to indulge in the fun parties he obviously longed to attend.  


“Well with the way you just described the other guests, I can only say that you’d fit in perfectly, darling.”  


Then Abel would laugh for a second before the air is engulfed in silence once more.  


That’s the way these Friday nights would normally go, but Damien finally decides that he might as well break away from the much expected dialogue and skip to the part where he joins Abel outside on the terrace.  


Abel is confused when Damien says nothing - so used to their normal routine and unsure of what his partner plans to do. He’s even more confused when Damien walks up behind him, grabbing the half-empty glass of whiskey out of his gentle grasp and setting it on the railing before them. Abel tries to look over his shoulder at the dark haired man, but is unable to when Damien wraps his arms around Abel’s waist and sets his chin to rest on his right shoulder - continuing the swaying movement that Abel had stopped doing a few moments before.  


He furrows his brows, and is about to open his mouth to inquire about the unusual events that are transpiring, but stops himself when he hears Damien whisper in his ear.  


“Dance with me.”  


It’s not a question, and Abel can’t even form a response before Damien grabs his hands from where they sat perched on the railing. Damien slowly turns them until they are facing one another for the first time tonight. He adjusts his grip on Abel’s left hand, taking a moment to lightly brush over the golden ring on his middle finger, before raising it to shoulder height, and lets his other hand drop to Abel’s waist, where he holds onto him tightly, pulling their bodies closer. Abel’s right hand slowly trails along the arm that holds him, and finally sets it down to grip Damien’s left shoulder.  


Once more, they softly rock side-to-side to the slow music echoing below them, enjoying the peaceful moment and allowing themselves to bask in the calming presence of the other. Damien is the first to break the shared silence after a few minutes.  


“You know, I could always use an extra pair of hands out in the field. Why not join me one of these nights? It must get boring up here on your own all day.”  


Abel sighs, “No matter how many times you ask me, Damien, the answer will continue to be no. I have no interest whatsoever in your work and I really don’t care to participate in your nightly witch hunts. That is your area, not mine.”  


“Then what is your area, exactly? Lounging around in solitude? Wallowing in silence?” The frustration in Damien’s voice grows, edging on exasperation. “I didn’t whisk you away from your troublesome life just to keep you around as a prize, Abel. I saw potential in you before, but lately, I’ve forgotten exactly how I saw anything to begin with.”  


“I don’t exactly recall asking you to “whisk me away” to begin with!” He hates when this happens; Damien always has to ruin the mood by bringing up his stupid job. It’s not Abel’s fault he’s not interested in stalking and killing people.  


“Would you rather I had left you to be found? They would have killed you on sight, what don’t you understand about that? No one just murders the prime minister of France and gets away with it so easily.” They’ve had this argument before, and it usually ends with Abel getting his way, with Abel being allowed another week of doing nothing all day and somehow being completely content with it. Tonight, though, Damien is adamant in making Abel realize that there’s no point in hiding anymore, that soon, preferably now, he will have to accept the life he accidentally stumbled into two years ago, quite literally.  


“Oh and you would have? You would have done it so easily, is that right?”  


“Yes! I would have! Because it’s my job, it’s what I’ve been doing for years and what I’ve been trying to teach you from the very beginning. Let me do this Abel, allow me one night to show you what we’re capable of achieving together, and after that if you decide you still hate it, then I will never bring it up again,” Damien pleads. He’s never had to beg so hard to convince someone to do his bidding, but there’s always a first time for everything, he supposes.  


Abel eyes him for a moment, a scrutinizing gaze that analyzes every bit of Damien’s body language, searching for a sign of malintent. When he seemingly finds nothing, Abel whispers something so quiet that Damien might not have heard it if not for the fact that they were still in closed position.  


“Promise?” Abel is truly considering agreeing, if only to pacify the argument from propelling any further.  


“Darling, I swear it to you,” Damien’s never responded to anything so fast before, a true testament to just how bad he wants this. And when Abel gives him a small nod in return, Damien swoops down to give him a gentle kiss on the lips, hoping it’s enough to convey all the love and joy he holds in his heart at the simple expression of consent. Abel accepts it wholeheartedly.  
~ ~ ~  


Abel fidgets with the glass in his hand, debating whether he should just say “fuck it” and drink straight from the flask in his blazer pocket instead. It’s not that the hosts aren’t serving alcohol—on the contrary, they’re serving plenty, most with names he’s never heard of before—it’s just that he prefers to stick the familiar.  


And this is not familiar.  


After the argument they had out on the terrace that was loud enough to be heard by the neighboring residents (they didn’t receive any complaints, surprisingly), Abel stands in the very dance hall that he was only listening to barely a week ago. Oddly enough, Damien’s investigations led him to believe that his target would show up here tonight, so in the end, he guesses they’ve both gotten their way. Everything about the place is as much as he expected it to be: fancy gowns and suits, fancy finger foods, fancy hair, fancy masks, and an overall fancy atmosphere.  


Yeah, he definitely feels like an outsider.  


Damien took a break from investigations yesterday just so he could drag Abel around outlets and malls to find appropriate outfits for the two of them, specifically suits and masks. When Damien mentioned for the third time that day how there can’t be any telling signs of them knowing each other, he made sure to put extra emphasis against matching outfits and similar arrival times. To which Abel replied:  


“You’re so dramatic. You just want to make a late entrance, don’t you?” Abel was just joking around. He knew the real reason they couldn’t show up at the same time was because it would blow Abel’s cover immediately. It was too likely that the target, who he now knows is a man by the name of Arvador Rubias, had noticed Damien following him around and is now aware of the potential danger he’s in. It would be better for Abel to not be seen associating with him at all.  


“Dear, you know me too well,” Damien responded in lieu of delving into another explanation.  


The party invitation is the same every time it’s slipped under their door, so they knew the dress-code, the problem lied in the fact that Abel had never been dressed up to such a degree.  


“You mean to tell me you didn’t go to prom?”  


“You mean to tell me you did?”  


Luckily for the both of them, Damien holds plenty of knowledge in that particular field, and he ended up picking out a sleek, dark red velvet blazer for himself, accompanied with a pearl white button-up undershirt and a simple black bow tie. Abel wasn’t as concerned with the way he should look, allowing the other man to dress him in whatever outfit he saw fit.  


Finding the masks wasn’t too difficult of a process. The two just walked into the first dress shop they found on the drive back to the hotel, which, fortunately, displayed a large selection of many types of styles on the back wall. Abel felt like a kid in a candy store, trying on every mask within reach and asking for his partner’s opinion, only to tune it out the moment he spotted another style. Damien didn’t mind the lack of a singular focus his lover had in the moment, content to see him so excited and free spirited about something as simple as a mask. It’d been a while since he’d seen Abel so upbeat and playful, a telling sign that Damien wasn’t doing nearly enough these days to keep that side of him alive. After an hour or so of trying on literally every mask on the wall, they both agreed how the blue half mask that covers the right side of his face and nose along with his left eyebrow worked best with the chosen suit. It even had silver and white accents flaring in from the far sides of the mask, imitating the likeliness of vines climbing inwards towards his ocean eyes.  


Now he stands in a dark, navy blue blazer, a different design than that of Damien’s red one, and with a black undershirt instead. Abel took the reins when picking the bow tie, immediately reaching for the silk white one and completely ignoring his boyfriends protests of it being too stark a contrast.  


Abel spends the first thirty minutes of the party staying close to the walls, observing each individual person meandering within the crowd, each moving with a fluidity he’s never seen before—only furthering the feeling of sticking out like a sore thumb. He made a few rounds of the elegant dance hall, not really sure who he should be looking for. Damien gave him the vaguest description possible of what his mission was really about, sticking to a need-to-know basis, and for some reason that includes why he needed to get Rubias alone. Abel’s job is the isolation aspect, which is going to be difficult considering the character description could apply to almost everyone in the room. Blonde hair, blue eyes, white male with light stubble.  


Honestly, you would think after stalking the guy for literal weeks that he would be able to muster a more specific portrayal than that, he muses to himself. That doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to find the guy, though, as much as he complains about it. He’s walked around the area about three times now (it’s a considerable size for being in a hotel, albeit a very expensive one), and finally decides he’s earned himself a break from it all, might as well enjoy the party the way he originally intended to for once.  


Abel is in the middle of trying to figure out how to eat a deviled egg without getting his suit dirty when he felt a light tap on his right shoulder. He turns to face the stranger and is met with piercing ice-blue eyes behind what seems to be a Batman inspired pitch black mask. The right side of the man’s mask goes all the way up past his hairline, partly laying on top of his slicked back blonde hair, while the bottom frames his jawline until it comes to a sharp point on his chin. The left of his mask simply goes straight across his nose and eye—almost like he had melded two entirely different masks together.  


“Hello there,” the stranger starts. “I couldn’t help but notice you circling the room like a hawk.”  


“I think you mean a vulture,” Abel quips back easily, fully intending to end this conversation before it can start and turn his attention back to the egg in hand.  


“Well, no, not exactly. While it’s true that both birds circle their prey, the hawk just so happens to look much more beautiful while doing so,” the man replies smoothly, as though he was already aware of Abel’s harsh personality.  


Abel does nothing but pause and raise an inquisitive eyebrow at the tall man before him. “You’re hitting on me?” Disbelief unmistakably prominent in his tone before he finally just shoves the entire egg in his mouth.  


“Is it that hard to believe? I’ve attended every one of these events and I prided myself in recognizing every mask here. But you, sir, are a sight for sore eyes.” He reaches over to pluck an hors d’oeuvre off the platter on the table, intentionally pushing himself closer to Abel, who in turn pushed himself closer to the table behind him. “So tell me, what made you decide to come here tonight?”  


Abel sighs. He really has no interest in indulging the man with conversation, but what else is he going to do? Dance? Definitely not. At least not until Damien arrives, which isn’t for another— he glances down at the man’s watch— full hour, and he has to get this mission out of the way, too. Speaking of which––  


“I didn’t catch your name there. Mind sharing?”  


“Oh, right, of course.” He laughs to himself, before extending a hand out in greeting. “My name is Aravdor Rubias, and you are?”  


Abel is suddenly at full attention, at the mental crossroad of how he should go about this interaction. On the one hand, if he does his part well and actually helps Damien get this guy, then the chances of Damien actually letting it go like he promised to would drop exponentially. He’d always find some way to bring it up, reminding him of the time he did so well on that one assignment and that he should just keep at it, which is absolutely not what he needs to hear for the rest of his life. But if he blows this, makes a complete fool of himself and fails completely to do the one task he was assigned, maybe Damien would really lay off of it forever. Abel quickly comes to a decision. Changing his posture to be less rigid and angling himself inwards in a way that feigns interest, he takes the offered hand delicately.  


“You can call me Abel.” He purposely avoids giving a last name.  


“Abel, huh? Well let’s just hope Cain isn’t around tonight,” he jokes. Abel bristles when Arvador lifts has hand to his lips and kisses the gold ring on his middle finger, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Without letting go, he asks, “Would you like to dance with me?”  


No. “I would love to.”  


Arvador leads him to the main floor, where all the other men and women hold each other close. Now that he’s closer to the actual gathering, Abel realizes it’s not as stuffy as he believed it to be from a distance. The constant murmur of guests chatting amongst themselves combined with all the continuous movement of people dancing past them is enough to put him at ease that no one cares enough to stare. So when Arvador pulls him into position with one hand on his waist and the other in his own, Abel lets himself relax just a little. The man asks him question after question and Abel finds himself hesitating less and less to give answers, though he does keep in mind to be careful with what he says. As time passes and the two become more comfortable in each others presence, Abel can’t help but wonder just what this man has done to get himself onto Damien’s hit list. Nothing about him comes off as intimidating or even slightly dangerous, and he’s thankful for that, because that means he can finally have fun the way he always hoped he’d be able to. Of course, the experience would be a hundred times better were he to spend it with Damien. The thought of the two of them dancing the way he is with Arvador right now puts a small smile on his face. As irritating as his boyfriend can be sometimes, Abel can’t deny how much he truly does love him.  


He’s pulled out of his thoughts at the abrupt stop Arvador makes in their movements, the expression of horror etched into his features is enough to make Abel’s heart fall to his stomach; a rush of cold fear washes over him and he doesn’t even know what Arvador is looking at yet. He turns around to see what’s got him so terrified, and immediately understands when the striking color of a dark red suit comes into vision. Even from this distance, the anger in his dark brown eyes is obvious, the fun red and black party mask doing nothing to dilute it. The moment Damien takes a step in their direction, Arvador’s grip on him tightens, and suddenly he’s being pulled back.  


“Outside. Let’s go outside right now,” he whispers, the panic in his voice unmistakable. Abel is too caught up in the turn of events to consider the fact that Damien is early. Way too early. Arvador rushes them out into the open air, uncaring of whether he’s making a scene, and looks around for an exit, a hiding place, anything that will get him away from the impending danger that follows so close behind. He doesn’t get much time to think before the double doors are slammed shut behind him, and who else would be standing there other than the man who has been stalking him for weeks. “Get behind me, Abel! He’s dangerous,” Arvador warns.  


“Actually, if anything, I’d probably be in more danger standing behind you than I would be standing over there,” Abel says with a steady voice. As much as he hates what’s about to happen, he can do nothing to prevent the man’s fate from coming to fruition. With a lingering touch to his shoulder and a forlorn look in his eye, Abel steps away from him and moves to stand next to the hitman, who by now has already drawn a gun out from his waistband. He doesn’t miss the look of betrayal that gets thrown his way before a shot rings out around them, though some part of him wishes he did.


	2. The one with the bad ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same idea, different outcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said I wrote alternate versions? This is one of them. It's not a continuation, rather a different take on the first one. I didn't go through it for errors, so apologies if you find any. Enjoy!

Seeing him softly swaying on the terrace was not an unusual sight for him to return to. After all, they live only a few floors above the dance hall, where parties are usually held by very prestigious people at the end of every week. They were always invited, but never went.

“It wouldn’t be any fun on my own,” Abel would always say, when Damien would ask why he never just attends. 

“You wouldn’t be alone for long,” he would retort. “You know I’ll meet you there after I finish my investigations.”

“Yeah, but the party always starts at six, and you’re a wild card. I never know when to expect you.” Abel had a point, but Damien would still feel guilty that he was the reason that Abel wouldn’t allow himself to indulge in the fun parties he obviously longed to attend. 

“Bold of you to call me the wild card in this relationship. If I remember correctly, you were the one running away from a murder scene when we first met.” 

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Abel would groan, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Their Friday nights would usually follow some semblance of this conversation, but tonight, Damien had something else planned.

Abel is confused when Damien opens the door to their room but says nothing – so used to their normal routine and unsure of what his partner plans to do. He’s even more confused when Damien walks up behind him, grabbing the half-empty glass of whiskey out of his gentle grasp and setting it on the railing before them. Abel tries to look over his shoulder at the dark haired man, but is unable to when Damien wraps his arms around Abel’s waist and sets his chin to rest on his right shoulder - continuing the swaying movement that Abel had stopped doing a few moments before. 

He furrows his brows, and is about to open his mouth to inquire about the unusual events that are transpiring, but stops himself when he hears Damien whisper in his ear. 

“I have a proposal to make.”

Abel’s interest immediately peaks. He turns to look out over the Paris nightlife once more, patiently waiting to hear what Damien has to say.

“But before we get into that,” his voice takes on a dark tone. “I feel I should mention how aware I am that you’ve been snooping around in my belongings whenever I go out, dear.” Damien feels the man stiffen in his arms. He tightens his hold in retaliation. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad. I’m just curious. So tell me, Abel, what exactly is it you’re searching for?”

Abel is silent for a moment, considering his options. He knows he’s been caught, and there’s no good outcome in lying to a hitman, it’ll only get him into deeper waters, and possibly on Damien’s bad side. Better make amends while he still can.

“I’m sorry, Darky.” An old pet name; he must be desperate. “I just wanted to know who you were looking for. I was thinking that maybe if I knew, then…” He bit his lip in trepidation, carefully considering hs next words.

“Come on, darling. Out with it,” he mumbles dangerously into his ear. Damien often found himself lacking patience when it came to Abel and his antics.

“I want to help you,” he blurts out. He meant to say it in a more nonchalant manner, but it’s out there. No going back now. “You’re always going out to do your job and it gets lonely having to hide up here. I’m left with my thoughts all day and I’ve started to feel like I’m just a nuisance to you. I want to prove that I’m worth all the effort and be useful for once. Please, Damien, let me help you. If not for your benefit, then at least for mine.” He’s shaking now, nervous and scared of whether he had just messed it all up. Damien says nothing for a moment, then–

“Oh, Abel. Abel, Abel, Abel. My darling, it’s alright,” he coos, gently turning the younger man in his arms to face him. He places his callous hands on his cheeks and stares into his astonishingly green eyes. “They’re more beautiful than any gem could ever hope to be,” Damien had told him once. Abel always feels as if Damien is looking right through him, peering into his soul whenever he does; it’s terrifying, but he can never bring himself to look away. “It’s wonderful that you’re intrigued in what I do, and you couldn’t have timed this more perfectly. This actually brings me back to what I was originally planning to say.”

Damien takes him by the hand, leading him back into the warm confines of the large hotel room they have been residing in for the last two months. Abel sits himself at the foot of their unmade bed, watching his boyfriend’s movements with careful eyes. He first pulls a slim black briefcase out from under the bed, rifling through multiple folders before finally pulling one out. He then walks over to the small trash can by the door and picks out a very familiar looking card. Abel stays silent, even when the bed dips next to him at the addition of familiar weight.

“Abel, my love, it’s no secret how much you desire to attend the event downstairs. I first want you to stop throwing these away.” He places the small card in his lax hand, an invitation to the event. “And I believe this is what you’ve been looking for.” Handing over a black manila folder, Abel takes it with hesitant fingers, giving Damien a second questioning gaze before slowly opening it. The name RUBIAS, ARVADOR glares back at him.

~~~

Abel fidgets with the glass in his hand, debating whether he should just say ‘fuck it’ and drink straight from the flask in his blazer pocket instead. It’s not that the hosts aren’t serving alcohol—on the contrary, they’re serving a lot, some with names he’s never heard of before—it’s just that he prefers to stick with the familiar.

And this is not familiar. 

After a lot of debriefing on Damien’s behalf, and even more questions on Abel’s, he finally stands in the very dance hall that he only listened to barely a week ago. Everything is about as much as he expected it to be: fancy gowns and suits, fancy finger foods, fancy hair, fancy masks, and an overall fancy atmosphere.

Yeah, he definitely doesn’t fit in. But he can’t dwell on that too long, this is what he wanted. He’s helping Damien track down his target, (Our target, he had considered fleetingly) and he can’t afford to mess up his first step into this private section of Damien’s life.

Damien had set aside a few hours the previous day so he could drag Abel around the nearest mall to get them both appropriate outfits, it’s a dress-code specific event after all. 

“So you can take time off before the party but not on the day of? I thought you loved me Damien, I really did,” Abel had complained.

The party invitation is the same every time it’s slid under the door, and Damien had gone undercover enough times to know what type of appearance is expected, the problem had lied in the fact that Abel has never gotten dressed up to this degree. In the end, Damien picked out a sleek, dark red velvet blazer for himself, accompanied with a pearl white button-up undershirt and a simple black bow tie. Abel was at a loss in this arena, so he allowed Damien to take the reigns and dress him in whatever outfit he thought looked best. 

Finding the masks wasn’t as troublesome, the two just walked into the first dress shop they came upon, which luckily happened to contain a large selection of masks to choose from. Abel chose a blue half mask, covering the entirety of the right side of his face and nose along with his left eyebrow—the eyes remaining free, of course. Silver and gold accents flared in from the far sides of the mask, imitating the pattern of vines climbing inwards towards his eyes. 

Now here he stands in a dark, navy blue blazer, matching the design of Damien’s red one, and with a similar white undershirt. Instead of a black bow tie, Damien picked out a red one for him to wear, which was the same color as Damien’s own suit. 

“To let people know you’re already taken,” Damien had explained.

Abel spent the first hour of the gathering staying on the sidelines, observing each individual person meandering within the crowd and trying not to stick out too much. He made his rounds around the perimeter of the dance hall twice, stopped by the food table to gather his thoughts, then made his rounds again; each time making sure to scrutinize every masked face that came into view. 

When Damien gave him permission to look through Arvador’s portfolio, there was, of course, a photo to go along with the name. Written beside it was a brief description of his personality traits and how he is likely to act in given scenarios. It wasn’t too detailed, however, and none of the information provided was enough to go off of; there’s just too many people compacted in the room. The only thing that truly stood out for Abel was the target’s eyes; a type of icy-blue that looked to hold no emotion at all, cold and intimidating. Even just looking at them through a photo was enough for Abel to feel uneasy. 

Abel swirls the unknown drink in his champagne flute around for a moment, considering what other tactic he could use to find Arvador without coming across as suspicious. Damien is entrusting him to find his target before the end of night and isolate the man, that’s where Damien will come in and take care of the rest. He’s been at this for awhile and hasn’t seen him onc–

There’s a light tap on his shoulder from behind. Slowly, he turns to face the stranger and is immediately taken aback by the piercing ice-blue eyes he is met with. All other features are hidden behind what seems to be a Batman inspired pitch black mask. The right side of the man’s mask goes all the way up past his hairline, partly laying on top of his slicked back blonde hair, while the bottom frames his jawline and comes to a sharp point on his chin. The left of his mask is much simpler as it doesn’t flare up and down like it’s counterpart, rather it goes straight across his nose and eye—almost like he had melded two completely different masks together. 

“Hello there,” the man starts. Abel takes note of his accent. “I couldn’t help but notice you circling the room like a hawk.”

This is him, he found me. I was supposed to find him! Abel thinks to himself, beginning to panic. Oh shit. What do I do now? Act natural? He’s waiting, say something!

“I think you mean a vulture,” Abel blabs, much louder than intended. How intelligent. 

“Well, no, not exactly.” Arvador eyes him carefully, taking a full body sweep of the painfully nervous man before him. “While it’s true that both birds circle their prey, the hawk just so happens to look much more beautiful while doing so,” he replies smoothly.

“Oh, wow, uh, now you’re flirting with me, okay,” he flounders. That was definitely not listed in the file, but he can improvise. Flirting is easy; how do you think he scored Damien?

“Is it that hard to believe? I’ve been to many events in my life but never once has someone so easily caught my eye. And speaking of eyes,” Arvador lifts a hand to hold his jaw, angling his head up higher. Abel lets him. “Yours are beautiful.”

He’s so much more intimidating in person. Alarm bells are going off in his head, screaming: Danger! Not good! Get away! Every bone in his body is telling him to pull away from the contact, but this is also an opportunity he can’t pass up. He slips into a cool demeanor and prays that Arvador can’t sense the sudden shift in attitude. Abel grabs ahold of the hand at his chin and squeezes it lightly, pulling the enemy along with him. With a quick glance to the right, he notices that the large outdoor balcony is vacant. Perfect.

“C’mon, let’s take this outside.” Abel tilts his head minutely in its direction.

The moment they step out into the open air away from all other guests, the large wooden double doors behind them swing shut, and close them off from wandering eyes. Abel jumps, unintentionally clutching himself closer to a Arvador, who in turn pulls him closer. They turn around to face the cause of the offending noise, and the moment their eyes land on Damien’s figure, a knife deploys itself from Arvador’s sleeve, coming to land at the base of Abel’s neck. Arvador positions himself behind Abel like he would a shield, a threatening aura oozing off of him now. 

“Now, now, Damien. You really thought I could be tricked so easily by, what? Your boy-toy? It’s almost insulting how little you think of me.” Arvador is grinning wildly now, a manic gleam in his eyes. “So, tell me, how do you plan to get yourself and your partner out of this little mess we seem to have found ourselves in? You can’t shoot your way out of this one, not like you usually do.”

Damien lets go of the gun he was clutching behind his back, at a loss for once in his life.


	3. The one with the good ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last version of this particular storyline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be honest, the first 3/4 of this one are exactly the same as the last chapter. It's only the ending that's changed, so you can basically skip to the end for this one lol. And just like the others, this one has a really abrupt conclusion. I would expand on it, but I've sorta lost motivation for it.

Seeing him softly swaying on the terrace was not an unusual sight for him to return to. After all, they live only a few floors above the dance hall, where parties are usually held by very prestigious people at the end of every week. They were always invited, but never went.

“It wouldn’t be any fun on my own,” Abel would always say, when Damien would ask why he never just attends.

“You wouldn’t be alone for long,” he would retort. “You know I’ll meet you there after I finish my investigations.”

“Yeah, but the party always starts at six, and you’re a wild card. I never know when to expect you.” Abel had a point, but Damien would still feel guilty that he was the reason that Abel wouldn’t allow himself to indulge in the fun parties he obviously longed to attend.

“Bold of you to call me the wild card in this relationship. If I remember correctly, you were the one running away from a murder scene when we first met”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Abel would groan, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Their Friday nights would usually follow some semblance of this conversation, but tonight, Damien had something else planned.

Abel is confused when Damien opens the door to their room but says nothing – so used to their normal routine and unsure of what his partner plans to do. He’s even more confused when Damien walks up behind him, grabbing the half-empty glass of whiskey out of his gentle grasp and setting it on the railing before them. Abel tries to look over his shoulder at the dark haired man, but is unable to when Damien wraps his arms around Abel’s waist and sets his chin to rest on his right shoulder - continuing the swaying movement that Abel had stopped doing a few moments before.

He furrows his brows, and is about to open his mouth to inquire about the unusual events that are transpiring, but stops himself when he hears Damien whisper in his ear.

“I have a proposal to make.”

Abel’s interest immediately peaks. He turns to look out over the Paris nightlife once more, patiently waiting to hear what Damien has to say.

“But before we get into that,” his voice takes on a dark tone. “I feel I should mention how aware I am that you’ve been snooping around in my belongings whenever I go out, dear.” Damien feels the man stiffen in his arms. He tightens his hold in retaliation. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad. I’m just curious. So tell me, Abel, what exactly is it you’re searching for?”

Abel is silent for a moment, considering his options. He knows he’s been caught, and there’s no good outcome in lying to a hitman, it’ll only get him into deeper waters, and possibly on Damien’s bad side. Better make amends while he still can.

“I’m sorry, Darky.” An old pet name; he must be desperate. “I just wanted to know who you were looking for. I was thinking that maybe if I knew, then…” He bit his lip in trepidation, carefully considering hs next words.

“Come on, darling. Out with it,” he mumbles dangerously into his ear. Damien often found himself lacking patience when it came to Abel and his antics.

“I want to help you,” he blurts out. He meant to say it in a more nonchalant manner, but it’s out there. No going back now. “You’re always going out to do your job and it gets lonely having to hide up here. I’m left with my thoughts all day and I’ve started to feel like I’m just a nuisance to you. I want to prove that I’m worth all the effort and be useful for once. Please, Damien, let me help you. If not for your benefit, then at least for mine.” He’s shaking now, nervous and scared of whether he had just messed it all up. Damien says nothing for a moment, then–

“Oh, Abel. Abel, Abel, Abel. My darling, it’s alright,” he coos, gently turning the younger man in his arms to face him. He places his callous hands on his cheeks and stares into his astonishingly green eyes. “They’re more beautiful than any gem could ever hope to be,” Damien had told him once. Abel always feels as if Damien is looking right through him, peering into his soul whenever he does; it’s terrifying, but he can never bring himself to look away. “It’s wonderful that you’re intrigued in what I do, and you couldn’t have timed this more perfectly. This actually brings me back to what I was originally planning to say.”

Damien takes him by the hand, leading him back into the warm confines of the large hotel room they have been residing in for the last two months. Abel sits himself at the foot of their unmade bed, watching his boyfriend’s movements with careful eyes. He first pulls a slim black briefcase out from under the bed, rifling through multiple folders before finally pulling one out. He then walks over to the small trash can by the door and picks out a very familiar looking card. Abel stays silent, even when the bed dips next to him at the addition of familiar weight.

“Abel, my love, it’s no secret how much you desire to attend the event downstairs. I first want you to stop throwing these away.” He places the small card in lax hand, the invitation to the event. “And I believe this is what you’ve been looking for.” Handing over a black manila folder, Abel takes it with hesitant fingers, giving Damien a second questioning gaze before slowly opening it. The name RUBIAS, ARVADOR glares back at him.

~~~

Abel fidgets with the glass in his hand, debating whether he should just say ‘fuck it’ and drink straight from the flask in his blazer pocket instead. It’s not that the hosts aren’t serving alcohol—on the contrary, they’re serving a lot, some with names he’s never heard of before—it’s just that he prefers to stick with the familiar.

And this is not familiar.

After a lot of debriefing on Damien’s behalf, and even more questions on Abel’s, he finally stands in the very dance hall that he only listened to barely a week ago. Everything is about as much as he expected it to be: fancy gowns and suits, fancy finger foods, fancy hair, fancy masks, and an overall fancy atmosphere.

Yeah, he definitely doesn’t fit in. But he can’t dwell on that too long, this is what he wanted. He’s helping Damien track down his target, (Our target, he had considered fleetingly) and he can’t afford to mess up his first step into this private section of Damien’s life.

Damien had set aside a few hours the previous day so he could drag Abel around the nearest mall to get them both appropriate outfits, it’s a dress-code specific event after all.

“So you can take time off before the party but not on the day of? I thought you loved me Damien, I really did,” Abel had complained.

The party invitation is the same every time it’s slid under the door, and Damien had gone undercover enough times to know what type of appearance is expected, the problem had lied in the fact that Abel has never gotten dressed up to this degree. In the end, Damien picked out a sleek, dark red velvet blazer for himself, accompanied with a pearl white button-up undershirt and a simple black bow tie. Abel was at a loss in this arena, so he allowed Damien to take the reigns and dress him in whatever outfit he thought looked best.

Finding the masks wasn’t as troublesome, the two just walked into the first dress shop they came upon, which luckily happened to contain a large selection of masks to choose from. Abel chose a blue half mask, covering the entirety of the right side of his face and nose along with his left eyebrow—the eyes remaining free, of course. Silver and gold accents flared in from the far sides of the mask, imitating the pattern of vines climbing inwards towards his eyes.

Now here he stands in a dark, navy blue blazer, matching the design of Damien’s red one, and with a similar white undershirt. Instead of a black bow tie, Damien picked out a red one for him to wear, which was the same color as Damien’s own suit.

“To let people know you’re already taken,” Damien had explained.

Abel spent the first hour of the gathering staying on the sidelines, observing each individual person meandering within the crowd and trying not to stick out too much. He made his rounds around the perimeter of the dance hall twice, stopped by the food table to gather his thoughts, then made his rounds again; each time making sure to scrutinize every masked face that came into view.

When Damien gave him permission to look through Arvador’s portfolio, there was, of course, a photo to go along with the name. Written beside it was a brief description of his personality traits and how he is likely to act in given scenarios. It wasn’t too detailed, however, and none of the information provided was enough to go off of; there’s just too many people compacted in the room. The only thing that truly stood out for Abel was the target’s eyes; a type of icy-blue that looked to hold no emotion at all, cold and intimidating. Even just looking at them through a photo was enough for Abel to feel uneasy.

Abel swirls the unknown drink in his champagne flute around for a moment, considering what other tactic he could use to find Arvador without coming across as suspicious. Damien is entrusting him to find his target before the end of night and isolate the man, that’s where Damien will come in and take care of the rest. He’s been at this for awhile and hasn’t seen him onc–

There’s a light tap on his shoulder from behind. Slowly, he turns to face the stranger and is immediately taken aback by the piercing ice-blue eyes he is met with. All other features are hidden behind what seems to be a Batman inspired pitch black mask. The right side of the man’s mask goes all the way up past his hairline, partly laying on top of his slicked back blonde hair, while the bottom frames his jawline and comes to a sharp point on his chin. The left of his mask is much simpler as it doesn’t flare up and down like it’s counterpart, rather it goes straight across his nose and eye—almost like he had melded two completely different masks together.

“Hello there,” the man starts. Abel takes note of his accent. “I couldn’t help but notice you circling the room like a hawk.”

This is him, he found me. I was supposed to find him! Abel thinks to himself, beginning to panic. Oh shit. What do I do now? Act natural? He’s waiting, say something!

“I think you mean a vulture,” Abel blabs, much louder than intended. How intelligent.

“Well, no, not exactly.” Arvador eyes him carefully, taking a full body sweep of the painfully nervous man before him. “While it’s true that both birds circle their prey, the hawk just so happens to look much more beautiful while doing so,” he replies smoothly.

“Oh, wow, uh, now you’re flirting with me, okay,” he flounders. That was definitely not listed in the file, but he can improvise. Flirting is easy; how do you think he scored Damien?

“Is it that hard to believe? I’ve been to many events in my life but never once has someone so easily caught my eye. And speaking of eyes,” Arvador lifts a hand to hold his jaw, angling his head up higher. Abel lets him. “Yours are beautiful.”

He’s so much more intimidating in person. Alarm bells are going off in his head, screaming: Danger! Not good! Get away! Every bone in his body is telling him to pull away from the contact, but this is also an opportunity he can’t pass up. He slips into a cool demeanor and prays that Arvador can’t sense the sudden shift in attitude. Abel grabs ahold of the hand at his chin and squeezes it lightly, pulling the enemy along with him. With a quick glance to the right, he notices that the large outdoor balcony is vacant. Perfect.

“C’mon, let’s take this outside.” Abel tilts his head minutely in its direction.

The moment they step out into the open air away from all other guests, the large wooden double doors behind them swing shut, and close them off from wandering eyes. Abel jumps, unintentionally clutching himself closer to an eerily unperturbed Arvador. Turning to face the cause of the offending noise, he sees–

“Damien!” Abel shouts in surprise. Sure, he was expecting him to arrive, but not so soon. Damien steps closer to the two, eyeing their close contact behind his red and gold mask of similar design to Abel’s.

“Well done, my dear. You did so well, I knew this was the perfect assignment for you. Everything went exactly to plan and I couldn’t be more proud.” He extends his arms out in front of him in a welcoming gesture, Abel runs to them without a second thought.

“Your dear needs to work on his observation skills. He walked past me twice and never realized it,” Arvador comments, removing his mask with a tired sigh and pushing a hand through his own gelled hair.

“Yes, I did notice.” Damien looks down to the man in his arms, a fond smile growing just at the sight of his beautiful love. “We’ll work on that. It’ll just take some more practice. What do you say to that, Abel? Are you willing to continue learning?”

“Um, Damien?” Abel begins slowly, eyes snapping confusedly from the man who only moments ago held the title of ‘Bad Guy’, and up to his hitman boyfriend who is literally supposed to be killing said guy right now. “What is he talking about? Why aren’t you two trying to murder each other?”

“Now, now, Abel. That’s a very rude thing to ask. We’ll get back to your inquiries in a moment, but first, please answer the question. Do you want to continue learning from us, or have you decided this particular lifestyle isn’t for you?”

Realizing he’s not going to get a straight answer out of his boyfriend until he does as he says, Abel answers, “I don’t want to stop. I haven’t changed my mind, regardless of whatever the hell is happening right now. I still want to be capable of helping you whenever you might need me, and the only way I can do that is if I keep learning from the best.”

The smile Damien gives him is blinding, filled with such adoration, and Abel cannot believe this man fell in love with him. Out of all the countries he’s travelled to, and all the people he’s undoubtedly met, Damien chose Abel, and it only made the urge to kiss him silly even stronger.

“Aw, isn’t that sweet,” Arvador begins sarcastically, diffusing their moment. “Now if I remember correctly, this is suppose to be a stealth lesson. Not a… whatever that is,” he finishes, a look of disgust written over his features as he gestured with a flippant hand at the two lovers.

“Oh, right, of course. My apologies, Rubias.” Damien takes a reluctant step away from Abel, but makes it a point to keep his hand on his lower back anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you thought of this! Comments and Kudos are a great way to make anyone's day! :)


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